


Child of Earth, Heart of Fire

by sweetopheliac



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, Dragons, Magic, Non-Canon Events, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, headcanon based
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-12-27 03:30:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18295961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetopheliac/pseuds/sweetopheliac
Summary: Freydis is anything but your typical hero. Arrogant, attention seeking, self-serving. The goal of her life was built around the need to gain power and influence. Of course the prospect of money was always nice as well. Yet her life was quick to change the day she and her brother crossed the border into Skyrim. All it takes is for one dragon to stop her execution in Helgen to kick off the fate her life was meant to take. Her mother had always told her she was destined for great things. Being a legendary hero was not exactly what Freydis had in mind. But it's much better than what she expected. Or so she thinks.





	1. Prologue

     The forest had been quiet for the most part. Every so often she’d hear the skittering of an animal in the distance or her partners quips. She’s thankful for the relative silence though; makes the journey a bit more peaceful. At the drop of a hat that silence is shattered as the air is filled with the wails of a child. She stops her steed to look down at the bundle snuggled close to her chest. Her son is not the source of the noise. He remains asleep in the sling across her torso. In a matter of seconds she’s dismounted from her horse and haphazardly starts her search for the source of the sound. No care is given to the words of protest her elven companion calls out.

     After a few a minutes of wandering around in a circle the crying sounds louder, and she assumes she’s grown closer to the source. Then it stops. for a brief second. Grey eyes are cast about scouring the area for any signs of life. Nothing save for a rotted tree trunk surrounded by shrooms and other flora. It’s not what she was looking for but she won’t pass up the opportunity to obtain more alchemy ingredients. With a huff of a sigh she moves towards it. When she goes to bend down to pick a few of the shrooms scattered about, she notices an opening within the wood. Rays of light softy ignite the inside of the hollow trunk. It’s then she catches a glimpse of movement and hears something stir. At last she realizes what it is. There within the rotted wood confines atop a bed of moss and an animal pelt is a baby. With caution, she reaches inside, careful not to injure herself, her son nor this new little one.

      Shura’s breath seems stop a moment after she pulls the infant out into the open world. Her brows furrow, looking over the babe for any wounds. Poor thing couldn’t be more than a week old. She knows without a doubt she’s already become attached to the little one It’s not long till her partner finally catches up with a rather sour look on his face.

      ❝What in Oblivion do you think you’re doing?! You can’t just run off like that! Especially not with Azuol—❞ He stops though the second he sees the human cradled in her grasp. There’s a quick glance up at the orc woman and from the look on her face he already knows what she’s thinking. Andrrus gives a quick shake of his head. ❝I know what you’re going to say and the answer is  **_no_ ** .❞ He can see her getting ready to argue with him. It’s foolish. He knows it and she knows it. Gods know though he can try all his might to convince her of it. ❝We _can’t_ keep it.❞

       ❝And why not?❞ Shura says, frowning down at him. What else were they going to do with the child? Certainly not leave it. Not in a millenia.

       Andrrus doesn’t hold back the groan of annoyance as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He watches while she tries to readjust both babies,trying to fit them into the one sling. ❝Surely you don’t mean that as a serious question. Dearest,❞ he says, the pet-name dripping with a sort of saccharine venom, ❝In case you’ve forgotten you are an  _**Orc** _ , along with our son, and I am a  **_Dunmer._ ** The child is human! Probably Nord at that… People will talk. Hell, someone may think we up and stole it from a village or some nonsense! Let’s just turn around, go back to Riften and leave it at the Orphanage or on the steps of the temple.❞

       Shura’s motion come to a halt, shooting him a fearsome glare. ❝ **_I’m not going back to Riften_ ** . Nor am I condemning her to a bleak fate such as that. My choice has been made.❞ Yet before he can say something else, she gently shoves the infant into his grasp. Irritation melts into confusion and a slight awkwardness. All he can do is stare at the child in his arms. Her brown eyes meet his red ones. There’s a twinkle in her eyes — a sort of mischievous look. A tiny hand reaches up only to rest on his chin It dawns on him just how little she is. He’s use to Azuol, who happens to be not only heftier but a tad chunkier. She let’s out what’s suppose to be a giggle and his heart skips a beat. This period of time feels so similar to when he held Azuol for the first time. The It takes him a minute to realize his companion is speaking to him.

        ❝Well, are you going to hand the child back to me or not?❞

        He can hear the smugness in her voice despite her features showing none of that. His expression softens as he gives the child back to his wife. ❝I know there’s no changing your mind. Fine. We’ll keep it.❞ he murmurs. ❝Just keep in mind that the child is human and not… _like us_. And it’s another mouth to feed.❞

         She merely rolls her eyes, smiling down at her new daughter. With a bit of ease she places her beside her other child, smile growing as they end up curling up together. Truly she has been blessed. She now has two children, a husband to provide support, and soon they would be free from Skyrim. Free from the nasty looks, the whispers and past. Just as soon as they crossed the border and moved past Bruma, everything would work out for the better.

         ❝It will all be fine. I have no doubt that not only were we destined for great things, but so are our children. Just wait and see, Andrrus.❞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Thank you for taking a look at my newest work! I hope you enjoy it! Like many of my other works, this is a collection of drabbles. Some will revolve around in game events. And some are just mere drabbles based on headcanons and random ideas.


	2. Destiny Set in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate always has a way of getting what it wants. Sometimes it's at the most horrible times.

         It was only maybe the third time they had ever crossed the border into Skyrim in regards to their work. Little did she know it would possibly be her last. She had gone to scout the area before they made camp. Nothing odd, save for a group of Nords all seemingly dressed in a similar fashion. Odd as it was, she warily made her way through the trees towards them. The intention was merely to gather information — particularly that regarding any rumors or news of the area. That is until chaos erupted. Almost like magic soldiers appeared, obviously taken them all by surprise. That didn’t stop any resistance. Yelling became like white noise buzzing in her ears. In the wake of her shock she made a mad dash back towards the direction she came. That is what alerted them to her.

  
          ❝ Over there! ❞ one had shouted.  
      They were on her like hounds on a wounded deer.

      Just when she thought she was close to being home free one tackles her to the hard ground. A hand takes hold of messy, fiery locks and a knee digs into her back. Little mind is paid to whatever they’re saying. Her concern is for her sibling. When they start to pull her up from the ground she catches a glimpse of a figure in the distance, peeking around from the shadows of a tree. She knows it’s him. No human is as tall as he is. All she can do is pray that the oaf doesn’t try to play hero; that he turns around and goes back home or at the very least away from this area.

       It seems her prayers are answered. That or somehow he’s read her mind. For as she’s being dragged away, she glances back and sees he is no longer there. It does not wound her feelings that he didn’t come charging out to save her. It’s better this way.

        Everything after happens in a blur. The next time she opens her eyes she’s in rags and sitting in a wagon with the group of Nords she had laid eyes on in the beginning of this mess. There’s no sign of her brother which brings relief to her heart. That doesn’t last long. The minute consciousness returns to her, one of the men starts speaking to her. With each passing second more information is revealed until it becomes painfully evident that they are not being dragged off to some jail to rot for Gods’ know how long. No, she’s among a group of rebels with their traitorous leader sitting right beside her. The Gods’ must really despise her for this to be her fate.  


     Her mother had told her once that she was destined for great things. Freydis had thought perhaps she had meant great riches or something prosperous like that. Not with her head on a chopping block for rather shitty luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't really described Freydis much but if you'd like a sort of reference image here it is!  
> http://fav.me/dd2me05
> 
> I have another one I'm working on and will add that in when finished with it.  
> Thank you for taking the time to read this new work of mine!


	3. Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes her duties included playing the role of courier. However, not all messages she relays are the best of news

It hadn’t been the first time she had played courier. She expected was to ask for the desired information, pass it on and be done or be sent on a goose chase. What she hadn’t planned for was giving unfavorable news.

**❝Angela…Mrs. Morrard…your daughter is dead.❞**

    The words left a sour taste in her mouth and a sick churning in her stomach. Such feelings only escalated at the older woman’s reaction. Freydis had done many a things that one could consider horrible, but to her this felt like the worst deed of all. Angeline called it a brave act; she would beg to differ.

> _Had her brother delivered similar news to their parents?  
>       Had they mourned her disappearance?_

    All she wanted was to hurry and be on her way. Yet she’s not fast enough. As she’s getting ready to leave she hears Angela speak again.

_**❝I hope your parents are proud you. They have a lot of reason to be.❞** _

    Whatever cool facade she had put on was in danger of cracking right there. But no, no — she needed to hold it together just a bit longer. She thanks the woman, giving a brief smile and quickly departs, running not just from the shop but outside of Solitude. Away…away from everyone. The burning stinging has begun to form in the corners of her eyes.

     Once away from peering stares, she sits beneath some trees. Knees are hugged to her chest while she tries to steady her breathing and will the tears back into her eyes. 

      Angela’s parting statement had struck her like an arrow to the heart. Any other time such a thing would only fuel her ego. Not this time though. All she can think of is home, of her life back in Cyrodiil.

      Would her parents really be proud of the person she continues to become? Would they be proud of the strides she’s made in life? Or would they merely shake their heads in shame, regretting their decision to raise her as their own?

      That’s all she’s wanted — to prove to them that it was no mistaken in taking her in. She owes them more than she could ever repay. She hates owing debts, but to them she would always owe the biggest one.

      The sun has begun to set by the time she finally pulls it together. All that’s left is the feeling of anger and self-hatred. It’s stupid to weep like a baby over such things. It’s weak to have such a vulnerable moment. She has no time to be sobbing. There’s dragons to slay and gold to collect.  
      And in a matter of seconds she back to playing her role as the hero with her head held high coupled with an overconfident smirk.


	4. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There comes a time in life when all you can do is reflect on the path you've chosen.

   Out of all the cities, for some reason Markarth was her favorite. Something about the landscape and the architecture. Or maybe it was the people. She would have thought Lakeview Manor would have been her top pick due to the nostalgia it seemed to bring. But alas her heart was most content in the stone town.

   One of her best-loved things to do was sit on the steps outside of Vlindrel Hall and watch world below her. Sometimes Argis will join her. They’ll talk and drink, and before they know it night falls. At one point he made the comment that she  _‘was like a dragon sitting atop her mountain perch just waiting.’_ When she asked what she was waiting for he merely shrugged.

    It was a silly joke of sorts — one that seemed to resonate with her. Perhaps because it felt true. Each time she sat in her spot staring down at the world sit felt like she was bidding time. For what, she’s never been sure.  


    It’s just her this time, which is fine. The breeze catches hold of her loose braids and light fabric of her dress rustles. It’s a peaceful spot to say the least. She’s been there for just about the whole day, watching the hustle and bustle of the city. But now the sun had set and stars have begun to dot the sky. Really and truthfully she should get up and go to bed in order to be ready for a new day (a day in which she actually does something productive). What stops her from doing so is the nagging thoughts in the back of her mind. The topic of these thoughts: her life.

    In silence she’s spent the day reflecting on the path she’s taken in life. In the last year and a half, she’s accomplished more than she ever thought she would. She’s slayed dragons, traveled across Skyrim, earned glory and influence, gained wealth, became the leader of the Thieves Guild, put an end to the Civil war and so much more all while becoming the Champion for numerous Daedric Princes. And yet, she still finds herself waiting and wanting for something more. But what? What more could she want?

    Idly fingers fiddle with the Amulet of Mara around her neck. She’s not sure why she’s kept the blasted thing. She meant to dispose of it not too long after receiving it. However, she’s kept a hold of it for longer than she intended. She’s worn it under her armor for quite some time. The attention it brings serves as just another way to fuel her ego; that is when she let’s it be seen. The thought of what said amulet represents causes a pit to form in her stomach. At the same time though, it brings about the swallowing feeling of loneliness.  


    Sure, she could return to Cyrodiil to her parents and brother. That would be the easiest solution to her loneliness. A temporary bandage to cover up the void. Her heart has missed them greatly and yearns to be in their presence once more. There’s no doubt she loves them dearly. Yet it’s not the same.

  She has no time for frivolous relationships. There’s always work to be done. And who’s going to do it but her? There’s the Guild to run, beasts and bandits to slay, among many other obligations. Besides, what person would want to spend an extended amount of time with her? The only instances when people sought her out was when they needed something or just to see the Legend that is the Last Dragonborn. She should be happy about it though. It’s kept her in business along with earning her an amazing reputation. Or rather it’s her title that’s gained a glowing reputation. It’s the Last Dragonborn that is given credit, **_not Freydis_**. She has to wonder how many people actually know her name. One could argue it’s merely semantics, it’s made a difference to her. To others she is nothing more than her title and work ethic. Nothing more, nothing less.

   Why did it bother her so? It’s what she wanted — influence and fame…to make a name for herself. She’s achieved what she set out to do. So why does the thought of it sting at her heart like a vengeful scorpion?

   Needless to say her peaceful mood has soured. Reflection and tranquility have morphed into bitter anger and pain. There’s a wet, burning feeling in her eyes. Abruptly she stands, careful not to step on the ends of her dress. The Amulet of Mara is removed from her neck. Knuckles turn bone white as she tightly grips the chain. Arm rears back as if she’s about to throw it into the wild yonder. It never leaves her grasp. No, she merely stands there frozen in time with tears starting to stain her cheeks.

  After a few heavy, silent minutes she let’s out a breath and defeatedly puts the necklace back on. She curses herself for not being able to do it. ’ _What good will the damn thing do for you anyways?’_ she thinks to herself. She refuses to call it a spark of **hope** ; merely rationalizes keeping the trinket as another way to garner attention or even to sell when she needs the extra septims.

  It takes her a moment to catch her breath, wipe her eyes and regain her calm facade. For now she may as well call it a night; grab a bottle of alcohol and curl up in bed. Perhaps she’ll seriously consider visiting her family very, very soon.

  Tomorrow though the night will be forgotten. Her mind will refuse to think about it and simply push it away like everything else that’s brought her emotional dismay.


End file.
